


Smile and Nod (It's All You Can Do)

by SpiritsFlame



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire wants more. He always wants more. More drink, more sleep, more time. More of Enjolras. Always, always, more of Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile and Nod (It's All You Can Do)

It happens the first time when they’re both drunk, which says more about one of them and less about the other. 

Grantaire feels guilty about that first time, even now. It’s not so bad when both parties are drunk, but Grantaire is accustomed to it enough that he should have known better. Should have known that yes with a bottle in hand is not the same has a yes without one, and it had been on him to say no.

But Enjolras has been as bright as he always was, and as sweet as he never was and so very hot against him that Grantaire had not been able make more than the token protest. 

He feels sick about it the morning, but it’s Enjolras who throws up. Grantaire sits beside him and holds back his golden curls and tries to hate the fact that he loves Enjolras even like this. He can’t quite manage it, and leaves to bring Enjolras a cup of water instead.

Enjolras leaves that day in his own shades and Grantaire’s cap pulled low over his eyes and Grantaire drops back onto the bed they had shared and his fingers had itched for a bottle between them. 

He can still smell Enjolras on his sheets.

\--

And somehow it’s turned into something, something that Grantaire doesn’t dare speak of for fear that it will fall apart beneath his touch. He doesn’t dare speak of it to Enjolras, because if Enjolras thinks about it too hard, if it ever steps out of the shadows of the night, then Enjolras will surely reconsider.

He supposes that the term that fits best is “fuck buddies,” because he does not believe that Enjolras considers him friend enough to be “friends-with-benefits.” It is not precisely what he wants, but is enough for now. It is more than he thought that he would have.

\--

Les Amis meets, officially, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the few nights when the gaps in their schedules overlap. Unofficially, they meet up almost every night. They gather at someone’s apartment, and pile over on the couch and spill over onto the the floor and share neer and stories and laughter. 

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, they meet as revolutionaries, and Enjolras stands in the front of the room and makes his grand speeches and his idealistic plans. Grantaire sits in the corner and makes sarcastic noises and points out the flaws in his plans and tries not to flinch when Enjolras looks at him with enough scorn to burn him.  
Some nights, he is infuriating enough that Enjolras is pushed past his angry looks and cutting words, and he’ll press Grantaire into a wall and kiss him into silence, vibrating with tension until they stumble through the doors of Grantaire’s apartment.

He lets Enjolras push him against the door, press angry kisses on his skin, and when Grantaire kisses back he tries to keep his affection from shining through. He cannot match Enjolras for anger though, when all he wants to do is go slow.

\--

It is rare that Enjolras spends the night, and even more rare that Grantaire wakes up before him, so he takes a moment to watch him, features relaxed in sleep and golden hair haloed in the morning light. 

Grantaire risks touching him to brush a hand through those curls, stirring them off of his forehead. He imagine how it would be if they were lovers, if Enjolras could return his affections, how Enjolras may open his eyes and smile up at him, sweetly pliant. ‘

Grantaire watches him for several long moments, weighing his options. In the end, he presses closer to Enjolras and feigns sleep. When Enjolras wakes up an hour later, Grantaire does not stir, and swallows the bitterness when he hears Enjolras tug on clothes and close the door carefully behind him. 

It is too early to drink, but that does not stop him.

\--

Some days, when he is sober (somewhat sober, more sober) he will pick up a pencil, some charcoal, a paintbrush. He will draw, sketch, paint, and what will emerge is always Enjolras.

Sometimes he shines from the paper like Apollo descending back to Earth. Sometimes he is at the head of a grand pavilion, leading the people to a change Grantaire does not believe in. Sometimes Grantaire feels bitter and Enjolras is surrounded by the shadows that only ever seem to touch Grantaire.

Always he is out of reach.

\--

 

It is always Enjolras who initiates things, who sends the first text, who sends a heated glance, who grips Grantaire’s arm when he may have slipped out the door.

Grantaire would not dare to presume- should he press at the wrong moment, this whisp of a dream may fade away to his desperate need.

And Grantaire has always needed with a passion- needed his drink, needed his words, needed his Apollo. He needs things with a desperation that can break him, and it scares him sometimes. He does not excel at self-restraint, but he tries to curb his need for Enjolras. His need may break him, but he will not let it destroy this fragile thing he has with Enjolras.

\--

Grantaire thinks sometimes that affection angers Enjolras even more than sarcasm. There are times when Grantaire is feeling melancholy, or bold, or sometimes (rarely) brimming with happiness. The times when he cannot shove his love into the recesses of his mind, and it comes out in his kisses, in his fingertips, in his vocal chords.

On those days he kisses Enjolras like he has all the time in the world, and Enjolras will bite his lips like he is angry, until Grantaire feels like his heart will bleed along with his lips.

On days like this, Grantaire will run reverent hands up Enjolras’ ribs, press a palm against his heart to feel it beat. Sometimes he will weave their fingers together, if he is too drunk to be afraid.

Enjolras will bat his hands away, wrench his hands free and press harder, hard enough to hurt. 

That’s alright. It lasts longer.

Some nights, Grantaire will moan Enjolras’ name like a prayer, like it is his salvation. 

Enjolras will cover Grantaire’s mouth with an hand, and Grantaire will fall silent.

He has nothing to say that Enjolras will want to hear.  
\--

Eponine urges him to say something, to ask for more than he has been permitted, but Grantaire knows better. It is Enjolras who pushes for more, who demands equality and fairness- and it is Grantaire who knows that he cannot expect more than what he already has. 

Grantaire, who can finds many things foolish, can think of nothing more ridiculous than the idea that Enjolras could return his feelings. 

If all he can have is bruises in the shape of Enjolras’ fingertips, than it is what he will take.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to chat with me at my tumblr of the same name!


End file.
